First World(11)

“Get your hands off me. I expect to be bought dinner before I’m felt up.”

As my eyes adjusted, his concerned features came into focus. Blinking stupidly, I shook my head, once, and then again. The picture didn’t change. And I knew why it was familiar.

Rich brown eyes examined me in a disquieting manner. The warmth of his large hands cupping my face were soon replaced by a chill as he moved away. Which was worthy of noting due to the sunny and warm nature of the weather here.

“Sorry about that. Did I hurt you?” There it was again, laying assault to every sense I possessed.

The accent.

As shocking as it was to hear the potent and lilting sound, that wasn’t the craziest part. How could it be when the man of my dreams, literally, was crouching before me? Well, maybe it wasn’t so strange; I was dreaming ... well, that was my explanation, and I was sticking with it.

There was an extra impact; seeing him in three-dimensions. His strong masculine features, short dark hair that fell in a messy style across his forehead, perfect full lips. He was at least six-and-a-half-foot tall, with delicious expanses of golden tanned flesh showcased in well-worn jeans and a fitted shirt.

I was speechless.

And the eyes, those amazing eyes, fringed with incredible, and probably unappreciated, thick black lashes. Every time he blinked, the lashes cast shadows along his defined cheek bones. My mouth hung open as I continued to unashamedly gawk. He was aesthetically beautiful but somehow still masculine. I felt extremely inadequate in the face of such perfection; it wasn’t natural.

“Sorry again. I didn’t expect anyone to be in the forest. Well, other than Lucas.” His words brushed over me soothingly.

I guessed Lucas was the first person, the one I had actually avoided. I attempted to pull myself together. As a distraction, I began brushing off the leaves, pulling a few strays from my braid.

“I’m fine, no harm done.” Avoiding his gaze, I couldn’t help myself. “What’s your name?” I voiced the question I’d been waiting years to know.

“Brace ... Brace Langsworth,” he answered in a relaxed manner. A smile spread across his features.

Of course he had flawless white teeth; a blemish wouldn’t dare mar his perfection. I had the uncanny feeling that he was somehow connected to the man from the alley. In small ways he reminded me of him. Something about the cadence with which he spoke and manner he held himself.

“Feel like returning the favor? Your name?” His gaze never wavered.

“I’m Abby.”

There was so much more to say. Questions flew through my mind. But he had me stunned; I’d never met any person as instantly appealing as Brace. And it wasn’t the looks, which, don’t get me wrong, were a hundred percent sex appeal, yumminess. No, it was something more. Like the man from the alley, there was a comfort that shouldn’t be possible from a stranger. Shaking my head, I attempted to act like a normal person; I doubted Brace was privy to our dream familiarity.

As he stood, I couldn’t help but notice his grace and coordination. He offered me his hand. His eyes were daring me to trust him. Briefly hesitating, I placed my hand into his. He smirked as he engulfed my palm and pulled me to my feet. Expecting to be set free, I was stunned when he wrapped his right arm around my back and pulled me closer. Looking up into his perfect face, I knew there was nothing romantic in this embrace, nope, more like kidnapper.

“What are you doing in the royal forest, Abby?”

His tone was suspicious, which in no way detracted from the appeal of his accent. Who is this guy when he’s not making dream appearances? The forest police? Wiggling impatiently, I worked to free myself, and the entire time Brace scrutinized my features.

“I am going to say this one time only, you giant behemoth. You have, like, thirty seconds to get your hands off me or we are going to have an issue.” I attempted to throw an elbow into his gut, but somehow he anticipated the move and managed to avoid it.

As I continued my pointless struggle, his expression remained stern, but his eyes had lightened slightly. And, strangely, he relaxed his grip.

“Your accent is foreign. Where are you from? Surely you know that it’s a crime to be without displayed papers, especially in the royal forest.”

As he locked me in his stare, I forgot to breathe. Damn those amazing eyes. His brow was wrinkled slightly. Reaching forward, he brushed a lock of hair from my face. One of those wayward curls had escaped my braid.

“Who are you?” He said it as more than a simple question.

Realizing it was either breathe or pass out, I sucked in some air.

“I don’t understand your ques –”